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The story behind the portrait

My friend, Mr. Vernon Lushington, at this' time
invited me to paint the full-size portrait of his father,
the Rt. Hon. Stephen Lushington; therefore I stayed
with the family at Ockham to paint it. Sitting down
to my first dinner in the house, one of the sons asked
me what line I took on the question of the war between
North and South in America.

"I had better confess at once that I am on the
unpopular side, I must avow that all the arguments I
hear for the Southern cause have no weight with me,"
I said.

"Well done! " he exclaimed, "we are all Northerners
here."

Scarcely any circle I had met up to then had received
my confession of faith on this question so harmoniously.
I felt it was wise to make a study in chalk of the very
interesting head of the great Judge before beginning the
portrait in oil. The old gentleman was stirred up to
extraordinary vivacity when in conversation, and the
expression thus aroused was that best known to his
friends. When silent, his visage settled into a mask,
almost grim ; but the fact that this aspect was unknown
to society made me feel it must be avoided, the difficulty
was that in the mobility of his features it was almost
impossible to find any phase between the two extremes
that could give the interest of the charming old Judge's
character. When he saw that his listener was absorbed
in his stories, he poured out a succession of wonderful
memories, reaching back to before the last decade of
the preceding century; he was then eighty-two years
of age. He told how he had once, when back from
Eton, gone to Drury Lane or Covent Garden, he could
not be certain which. At the end of the first act the
Manager appeared before the curtain. "Ladies and
Gentlemen," he said in tremulous voice, "it is our
intention as usual to proceed with the performance of
the piece on the boards if it be according to your
pleasure, but it is my duty to tell you that sad news has
just arrived from France—it is, that the French people
have murdered their King. We will obey your
commands." No response was made, but every one in the
theatre arose, took his hat and coat in silence, and in a few
minutes the building was empty. Scores of memories he
recounted, that made one regret that the fashion of
storytelling was ceasing in society. He had once been in
company with Sir Joshua Reynolds, but had not known
it at the time. Of Napoleon Bonaparte he had several
social reminiscences. In his turn he was also an excellent
listener, and applauded a good point with clapping hands. . . .

When I had completed the chalk drawing, I invited
the daughters to see it. They were full of admiration,
but I could see there was some reserve in their minds,
and when I pressed them to be quite frank, Miss
Lushington innocently said, "Why, you've made papa
with wrinkles." To her and the family these marks
of age had come so peacefully that they did not exist. [I, 219-22]